


Last time, you said you'd protect me

by localdadfriend



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Denerim Police, Hallucinations, Inquisitor Thrown Into Modern Thedas, M/M, Modern Thedas, Multiverse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Semi-graphic violence, Slow Burn, Still Very Much Thedas With Magic and Lore, technically time travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localdadfriend/pseuds/localdadfriend
Summary: The anchor crackles insistently for attention, but when Drizzt looks down at his empty hand he's shocked to find his chest pierced entirely through by a Terror demon. The world slowly fades away before Drizzt can find the mind to panic. A shocked gasp that sounds too wet escaping out of its own volition. The last thing he sees is the blurry image of Dorian running in his direction screaming something.He thinks, maybe... Just maybe this time he won't miraculously wake up. Drizzt never really wanted to be the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor in the first place, did he?- - -Drizzt Lavellan wakes up in a Thedas he does not recognize full of familiar faces where his titles mean nothing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heart-Eyes Emoji](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944457) by [carouselfancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carouselfancy/pseuds/carouselfancy), [Tijgertje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tijgertje/pseuds/Tijgertje). 
  * Inspired by [Threads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425911) by [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Modern Thedas in which Heart-Eyes Emoji takes place with some nods to character careers such as the Denerim Police Department, as well as Threads for the fantasy boy thrown into the future. It's very Twilight Zone-esque.  
> Fic title references a scene with Dorian when you choose to help the mages.  
> Edit.   
> Now with a playlist https://8tracks.com/awholelotofnothingiv/last-time-you-said-you-d-protect-me

There's nearly nothing painful about it. Not physically anyway, the reality of it all never fully reaches him.

After a rather harsh blow to the head, Drizzt Lavellan finds that thinking is rather difficult, the world fuzzy around the edges. There's the screaming and yelling. He hears Cassandra's voice and Solas rushing beside him. The magical comforting warmth of a barrier casting a green filter on the chaos in front of him.

The anchor crackles insistently for attention, but when Drizzt looks down at his empty hand he's shocked to find his chest pierced entirely through by a Terror demon. The world slowly fades away before Drizzt can find the mind to panic. A shocked gasp that sounds too wet escaping out of its own volition. The last thing he sees is the blurry image of Dorian running in his direction screaming something.

He thinks, just maybe... Maybe this time he won't miraculously wake up. Drizzt never really wanted to be the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor in the first place, did he?

-

"So Dorian, what do you think happened?"

"I'm sure I don't know Alistair, though I do believe I'd solve that mystery faster if a certain someone wasn't playing helicopter."

"Aw, I found him though, I'm curious! Besides Cullen keeps giving me death glares. . ."

"Mm, I can't imagine why."

"But this is weird right? Nobody knows who this guy is, no records anywhere."

"Well, John Does aren't uncommon... He is Dalish judging by the vallaslin. The alienage has always been a soft target, has it not?"

"I mean, yeah, but we asked around the alienage and nobody recognizes this guy... It's like--Oh, shit, think Cullen found something. Lemme know if you figure him out!"

"Mm, sure. I'll be happy enough if I can figure out why his heart stopped beating..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shits gonna hit the fan pretty quick I imagine, this is very self-indulgent and me ignoring some of my other fics (whoops) as well as procrastinating some other planned out fics (double whoops). However, if you find yourself enjoying this little narrative I'd love to hear from you via comments and kudos! 
> 
> Chapters will get longer once the narrative is established I promise <3
> 
> You can find me at fadewalkin.tumblr and hmu about anything really!


	2. Chapter 2

His senses return slowly, the first note he takes is how cold he feels It's not the slow pulse of magic either, rather a sharp dip in the air. Body chill against a smooth surface.

He'd been fighting, there was a rift, wasn't there? He'd passed out. It takes a moment for his eyes to flutter open, vision blurry Drizzt fights blinking away lingering lights. Blinking several times but they never fully dissipate.

He'd been wounded, hadn't he? His arm is no easier to lift, fingers fumbling across the bare skin of his chest, but there's no indication of a scar which must mean he was healed shortly after the battle. . . It's difficult to think, Drizzt tries to recall exactly _how_  he'd been injured but it never comes to light.

The room is impossibly white when the cloudiness leaves his vision. The strangeness of it fails to strike him just yet. Attention pulled away by the sound of footsteps.

"Fasta Vass!" Something small and metallic clatters to the ground. "How in the world..." The panic lingers just outside his reach before catching like a spark.

He knows that voice! Drizzt _knows_  that voice. Even in this strange room with an impossibly white ceiling, everything must be alright because he knows whose voice that tevene belongs to. The panic ebbs like a recessive wave momentarily. Struggling to sit up he barely manages to stand, the table he'd been lying on clattering as he fumbles to his feet.

Even the floors cold.

The relief budding in his chest quickly vanishes as his eyes lock on to the familiar face of such a familiar voice."Dori...an?" The name comes out in a choked sound. He finds himself terribly thirsty. He doesn't understand the image before him, Dorian is dressed in a white uniform. It's something Dorian would call Hideous no doubt. That isn't the most confusing part. Dorian looks shocked. Pale faced and without words, feet undecided upon a step forward and a step backward.

There's a painful pulse against his temple, unsteady body stumbling forward. Something feels terribly wrong, he feels terribly sick. No.... no!   
_Nononononono..._

Panicked and uncoordinated Drizzt's hand slaps once more across his chest searching for a gaping wound or scar tissue. There is no pulse of green magic, no aching throb of his palm or crackling against his skin. Instead, there's only a white mark branching up his arm, trailing off in shards like lightning. Head whipping around he finds nothing looks familiar. Nothing at all. Drizzt shifts his eyes onto Dorian once more, looking for an explanation, recognition, _anything_. Dorian Pavus is no longer paralyzed to the spot but his face shows no joy for Drizzt's awakening, only confusion, and a similar panic.

Drizzt feels his heart climb into his throat as he steps forward, hand reaching out desperately.

"Dorian, wha...t did y..ou..." He doesn't quite finish the sentence, the world blackening around the edges while his feet fall from under him. Drizzt doesn't feel the hard crash of the floor, Instead Dorian quickly steps forward arms outstretched. The embrace feels cold and distant, but he can't help himself from wrapping his arms around the mage, or at the very least trying to. The face above him is so familiar, but the look of deep concern doesn't quite reach his peace of mind. Before he falls limp entirely he thinks he hears Dorian speaking urgently into a small device.

Nothing makes sense. As the world falls away from him Drizzt thinks maybe it wasn't Dorian at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian blinks in shock.

He is allowed to be shocked, right? Is that not the appropriate reaction to this situation?

Putting the phone down he finally stares at the elf collapsed in his arms unsure what to think. "He was dead..." He _was_ pronounced dead! The air of urgency doesn't disappear but after a moment Dorian manages to collect himself enough to lift the elf to his feet. The man's white hair falling over his face. Suddenly he feels quite rude for having prodded his body. Morals and consent and what not... That, of course, is the least of his problems because Dorian Pavus has no explanation for what the fuck just happened.

His movement is near robotic as he places the elf on an upright table, fetching a sheet to drape across his torso. The rhythm of checking vitals is purely muscle memory. Something familiar as the back of his hand. The motions allow him to detach further. Ignore the details of what just occurred and keep any further panic and confusion at bay.

Fingers placed against the elf's throat he records a slow pulse that was not present hours ago...

Dorian releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding at the sound of rapid footsteps down the hall. Alistair practically slides into the door frame eyes wide and alert, hand hovering close to his holster. Dorian scowls and his hand seems to drop as he spots their John Doe laid out on another table. He hadn't bothered picking up the knocked over one.

"You... You said he got up?" Alistair's voice is hesitant and if he weren't feeling so frazzled Dorian might have taken offense to the tepidity.

"Yes. He stumbled to his feet before collapsing, but he has a pulse." The words sharp in a tone that only surfaced under stress. Dead people sitting up is _stressful_ if you weren't aware.

Alistair lingers in the doorway unsure whether to come in.

"He was pronounced dead, yes?" Dorian eventually snaps, eyes flitting between the not-dead body and Alistair.

"Y-Yeah! I mean, he wouldn't have been brought here if not... Someone from the alienage called it in. Was dead when we arrived... Is.. Does he?..."

Dorian grips the bridge of his nose taking a deep breath, there's no reason to take out his anxiety on Alistair, that however does not make the task easier. "There is a pulse, yes. Now would you call in Cullen? Or.. Or-- _Venhedis_! Alert Captain Pentaghast she'll want to know. We should call an ambulance as well..." Dorian finishes, forefinger ending up between his teeth in a nervous habit. Behind him, he hears Alistair in the hall arguing with Cullen. Really the man should have just gone and fetched them but he can't bring himself to be upset. He's unsure whether he'd like to be alone or surrounded by others.

"Alright, they'll be here in a few minutes." Dorian nods absently flinching as a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Alistair prompts, frowning with such sincere concern Dorian doesn't know what to do with it. _No._

He debates it for a moment, then another. It's best to acknowledge it now, get some of the shock factors out rather than let it overwhelm him later when he's alone.

Alistair, unable to hide his anxiety manages to wait for Dorian's response with a surprising amount of patience.

Surely he could trust Alistair... "He... When he got up.. Hah.." A soft laugh escapes, Dorian reels back any possible hysteria. He was showing too many frazzled emotions already, no need for hysterics. A deep breath is released after he counts to five. "He said my name..." The words escape softer than intended, a hushed whisper no one should hear, else it be true. Dorian can only gauge the blond's reaction in glances. "And no, I've never seen him before in my life."

Before anything else can be said Cullen and Captain Pentaghast enter. That might not be a terrible thing. Cullen gloomy, Cassandra looking a hair away from mild annoyance but ultimately attentive.

"Alright, what is so urgent?" She prompts, the room eyeing Dorian and Alistair. Brow lifting as her eyes pass over the knocked over table.

Dorian clears his throat. "Yes well, we have one not dead."

Rightfully so her eyebrows raise in surprise, "What?"

Alistair jumps in and Dorian can't find himself to be angry. "The John Doe me and Cullen brought in from the alienage." The blond nods in Cullen's direction who's back has straightened. "He got up and... Recognized Dorian..." Dorian shoots Alistair a glare but makes no move to deny it. A pity of a decision once all sets of eyes turn on him. The discomfort is not from being center stage but rather his own confusion regarding the situation.

Cullen eventually breaks the silence, "What do you mean _recognize_?" A certain edge to his voice that has more to do with concern than vitriol. 

Dorian might have thanked him had he not included such a difficult question.

"I'm-He said my name, but I don't recognize him in the slightest," The first dull pulse of an oncoming headache thrums below his temple. "Look, I'm as confused as you are, I'd wager _more_ so! But we have more pressing matters, I want this elf in a hospital bed before he regains consciousness." A shaky sigh escapes and a hand cards a hand through his hair.

Cassandra opens her mouth, he can almost hear the beginning of her argument. Instead, she eventually nods.

"Wait, Dorian youre part of a unit, aren't you?" Eyebrow twitching Dorian regards Alistair with a small frown. "No, I have worked with case victims and post-trauma treatment. I may be a doctor but my primary care is with the dead." Actually, he was a medical examiner, but he _did_ spend time examining the dead.

It's as if everything he just said floats over Alistair's head as he looks between Cass and Cullen. "Well, it might be a good idea if Dorian's there when this guy wakes up? We don't have _any_ records and John Doe isn't usually far from trauma, right?" Where the hell Alistair's found the energy to get worked up the Maker only knew. He was almost certain Pentaghast would overrule the suggestion but instead, to Dorian's unfortunate suprise, she nods.

"That is true... It would be difficult enough to get him into emergency without any identification. I'll contact the hospital, you'll get there faster if you drive. I'll make sure someone's waiting for you there, you are relieved for now while we... Sort this out."

Alistair already moved to pick up the smaller elf causing a mixture of surprise and eye rolling. Was his lucky day as Cassandra's 'get back to work' orders were directed solely at Cullen.

"Well, come on then."

"Shouldn't we get his clothes?" Alistair hesitated.

Pushing away a sigh Dorian turned over his shoulder with a tired glance. "He'll be fitted in a hospital gown, no reason to do anything else invasive to the man." With that Alistair fell into step. The two earning a few confused looks passing the hall but Dorian pointedly ignored the stares.

"Did you figure anything out?" Alistair asks.

"Hm?"

"How he..." Died? "The scars on his chest and whats up with his hand." It was a successful enough transition.

"No, the scar across his chest seems quite old, as for his hand? It could just as well be a birthmark or some sort of vitiligo... I'm not entirely sure."

He glances at the marked arm. The skin was too white; near translucent the way, his veins showed so clearly. He wasn't sure what to call it.

Loading the elf into his car Alistair lingered in a way that could only mean he had something else to say, "Go on then," Dorian prompts energy draining.

"I get this is probably sorta stressful," Dorian raises an eyebrow and Alistair backpedals, "Okay, really stressful, but you know that someone's gonna ask if you--"

"No. I did not," The words escape through gritted teeth as he struggles once more to hold together a slipping composure. "I was hoping that person would not be you. I'll let you know if anything changes and I expect to hear from you if you find anything useful."

The words escaped curt and dismissive. He didn't bother letting Alistair trail off into some sort of apology. He revived the dead only after mountains of paperwork and higher approval, a controversy that at times was deemed necessary depending on the case. It was one of Dorian's least favorite jobs, which of course meant he was one of two qualified to perform such magic under legal jurisdiction.

Glancing at the unconscious figure Dorian swallows.

There are only so many times you can ask yourself how something has happened.

Before the elf collapsed he'd begun a question, leaving just enough words to make piecing it together quite simple.

_"Dorian, what did you do?"_

Unease settles across his shoulders in heavy weights as he pulls away from the Denerim police headquarters. There was too much ambiguity in that question for his liking. It was one thing for someone he'd never crossed paths with to know his name, but this? This was something else entirely...

He didn't know, he had no idea and sorely prayed he'd done nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so indulgent what the heck.  
> I'm tempted to do some flashbacks to DA:I moments featuring Drizzt and Dorian but I'm unsure whether I should just save those for other prompts/fics. 
> 
> Anway I hope someone out there is getting as much entertainment out of this as I am.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drizzt before the incident.

When forced to make a decision Drizzt chose to set after the rebel mages help. That's how they met. In all honesty, Drizzt hadn't thought Dorian much at first.

He was a pretty Tevinter mage with a tongue just witty enough to keep himself one step ahead from appearing overly pompous... Dorian would probably scoff at the initial idea before gleaming and glowing with grand gestures as he tutted in agreement. Of course, he was pompous! Anything that had _taste_ would be considered overly-extravagant by you southerners. Well, perhaps aside from Orlais. He, of course, wouldn't mean a dime of it.

It was never a personal moral decision. Drizzt was no mage, just an unlucky clan hunter who was skilled enough with a bow to be considered dangerous on his lonesome.

The human's war and politics ever growing to a point of reaching the attention of nomadic Dalish clans. Their hunts and migration patterns thrown out of sync with the growing number of unfriendly shem encounters to the point it had been deemed necessary to investigate. That's how Drizzt ended up with the bloody anchor and a title that betrayed his core beliefs. So no, It wasn't mage rights that led his choices.

Had he not spoken to the mages of Redcliffe they'd have undoubtedly been shipped off across the sea.

They were just _so_  defeated when spoken to. Tired eyed and heavy-shouldered as if invisible chains had already settled across their shoulders. The undeniable fear and reluctant acceptance that any plans they might have held for the futures had already been traded in exchange for extended servitude to the Tevinter Imperium. It was unjust and Drizzt had no reason to favor the Templars.

So, he helped the mages. Would have loved to leave out the time magic.

Dorian had been so quick to grow calm and calculative in the dungeons beneath Redcliffe, the two having been hurtled through time into what may as well have been the Apocalypse.

He could remember the overwhelming dread of it all while Dorian merely awed as the realization hit him.

" _Don't worry,_ " He said. Corner of his mouth curled upward ever so slightly, gray eyes twinkling in sardonic humor.

" _I'm here, I'll protect you._ "

Drizzt had the mind to scoff in disbelief and annoyance. With so much happening it had been difficult to properly process the foolishness of his new friend's words.

-

When he finally stirs it feels like a thousand stones have pyramided themselves over his chest. The phantom pains of suffocating, a burning sensation of the lungs, all while his gasps for oxygen falter into a low wheeze.

With moderate discomfort, Drizzt's fingers find his chest unoccupied except for a thin fabric with odd texture.

"Ah, there he is! John Doe has finally awakened." It's Dorian's voice again. Muddled and soft, tone accompanied with a sharp diction reserved for speaking to himself.

John Doe?

Tongue heavy in his mouth Drizzt foregoes the question, a splitting ache blooming like rashvine across the back of his skull as pale lashes flutter open to find a white tiled ceiling and all too bright lights above him. There's a thrumming sound beside him, like an instrument but smaller.... The room is different, it's less cold but no more comfortable. At least this time he's covered. It's still difficult to lift his limbs, but not impossible. Except there's something in his arm restricting him?

He tries to sit upward and his vision swims.

"Hold on now, wouldn't want a repeat of last time. Quite lucky I had the mind to catch you." Dorian's closer this time, it provides a twinge of comfort amongst a lull of confusion.

The panic is slower this time, a distant vibration like a tickle in the throat. It drips slowly casting the smallest ripple across the still waters of his mind. A far-off warning that something isn't as it should be.

Drizzt never manages to sit up but with a tilt of his head, he finds Dorian beside him. Words hang heavy locked behind his teeth. Dorian's still in the strange uniform, but he's not so pale face this time. There's still no distinct expression of realization or fondness to recognize.

"I still can't decide whether or not it's a good thing you're awake. Seeing that you had been pronounced... Well, never mind that. How are you feeling?" Dorian questions in a bright voice stretched at the edges.

It's hard to do anything other than swallow and stare. The concern is genuine, he can see that, but everything else is hidden by a familiar guard Drizzt had fought so hard to tear down. It's difficult to breathe once more and Dorian's face begins to drop into a frown that only causes the elf's heart to sink.

"No." The word escapes raw and small.

Dorian's frown deepens, eyebrow crinkling with what looks like confusion.

He feels an overwhelming sensation that he's... Lost. "Where are we?" Drizzt asks.

Blinking the frown fades, "The hospital, you were taken here after the incident in the lab. Before that, you were found in Denerim's Alienage."

The words spark about some familiarity, but... "I've never been to Denerim..." The words escape without intention.

Dorian looks confused once again. The panic begins to melt, dripping faster and shattering the stillness of his conscience. The names are familiar and yet a fear lingers that something isn't right.

Drizzt wants to get up, to leave and find his way back to the Emerald Graves but a voice in the back of his head lulls him sweetly, urging he rest and let the panic pass.

There's still a dizzy throb in his head.

"If you would so kindly answer some questions, I may be able to help you. Well, perhaps not myself personally but _someone_. Can you tell me your name?"

The words are informal and it hurts, but more than anything Drizzt finds himself laughing at the irony of it all. Sour words swirling like ammunition ready to load and fire. Was Josephine not nearby? Or the Spymaster Leliana to recount his personal details. . . Perhaps not, this was certainly no portion of Skyhold. Still. Dorian should already know this information but there's a dissonance that doesn't quite connect the information.

"The Herald of Andraste, of course." It's a bitter snark that dissolves into a small laugh that's reserved for the uncomical and absurd. What's that called? Hysteric? "The famed Inquisitor." He finishes feeling just as bitter, huffing softly to himself. He was rarely called anything else, even Lavellan was a rare luxury. The only person who often used his name was Dorian... Slowly his smug expression falls into a frown, something dull and hopeless because Dorian is staring blanking before turning around all together, a hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Wonderful, the zany religious type... Maker forbid this be some cult nonsense or brainwashing." He's mumbling now, pulling out a small device to toy over.

"I'm not Andrastian." Drizzt bites, venomous and hurt by the suggestion. The small device makes a sound causing Dorian to glance back down. "Drizzt of clan Lavellan." The words escape on their own behalf, a poor attempt at stealing away the panic in his chest and keeping Dorian's attention. Except his clan was dead... He was no clan. He was the Herald of Andraste. The Inquisitor. In the back of his mind, Drizzt vaguely recognizes the pin-prick wetness in his eyes. He tries to blink but a tear clings helplessly from his lash, falling to his cheek. 

Drizzt successfully sits up this time, too hyper-focused on the mage to acknowledge the discomfort in his arm. "Dorian," It seems to catch his attention. "You don't recognize me, do you?" Dorian is very still, face a mask only revealing chipped splinters of any internal panic. It's painful to watch. He recognizes it, a face he might make at one of Cole's more personal questions, but Cole's not here to make him grimace...Only Drizzt.

"I was..." Dorian shakes his head with a small sigh. "I was sincerely hoping I'd imagined that part. You knowing my name..." Dorian pauses opening and closing his mouth before he decides upon pulling his chair closer, not much, but it brings a worthless comfort to his aching chest.

Dorian falls silent, a sad forced smile appearing when he finally shakes his head. "I'm afraid not... I don't know where you think we might have crossed paths."

The panic no longer drips, it falls like raindrops from the sky or tears from weeping eyes. It makes his head swim to sit up so he lets himself fall back feeling weak and helpless, secretly hoping he might fall and never hit solid ground. Instead, Drizzt's head lands upon a pillow and he finds himself clenching the sheets around him as his cheeks dampen further.

'I love you.'

A pathetic last resort at recognition.

He does not say this. If Dorian cannot remember him then why would he love him.

'Did he ever love me?' A harsh voice whispers that Drizzt desperately tries to block out before letting his emotion spiral downward further.

"I..I'm sorry. It's not my intention to upset you! I merely don't know who you are or how you know my name! It's so strange the entire thing..." Drizzt can recognize the dull panic, the confident words speeding up. "Physically it appears you're perfectly healthy! There's no lingering magic or aura surrounding you either. Of course, I can't jump inside your mind and evaluate that but, well... No, never mind that." He trails off thoughtfully.

Finally, his eyes dry and Drizzt cannot help but look upon the face of a man growing ever unfamiliar to him.

He looks somehow nervous, unsure what to do with himself now that Drizzt is awake and pursuing him with difficult questions.

Eventually Dorian clears his throat breaking the silence. "Someone is looking up the record for a Drizzt Lavellan as we speak," He glances down at the device in his hand. "Once they find some identification we should be able to straighten out more details and we can get you out of the hospital and somewhere..." Dorian looks away for a moment. "Somewhere else." He finishes just as a look of realization flashes across his expression.

"Of course, I should have asked earlier! Do you have any relatives we can call?"

Drizzt blinks dully at that, a frown forming as he closes his eyes to block out the unfamiliar sights.

"No." It comes out harsher than intended, "I am the last of my clan."

Dorian doesn't respond.

"Of..Of course. Yes well, I suppose I should let you rest and gather your thoughts."

"You'll come back," The words fly past his lips with audible panic. "Won't you?"

Dorian glances upward, eyes considering Drizzt with an undecided expression. The silence lingers and Drizzt fears he'll decline but eventually Dorian nods.

"I can return in a few hours, hopefully with some information and plan of action."

The words pass through one ear without thought, mind entering a dissociative state as soon as Dorian confirms he'll return. The panic subsides momentarily when Drizzt decides he would rather stop thinking. He's on the brink of _something_ , something daunting. A bottomless crevice growing closer as his reality begins to crumble around him.

Drizzt has grown so tired of surprises, he's grown tired in general. Eyes fluttering shut he chooses the safe familiarity of sleep. Allows the world to crumble and crack until it falls out from under him rather than dive off the edge into the dark unknown.

-

There's a knot between his brows as Dorian collects his things. Their conversation has done nothing to settle the unease in his stomach. At least he has a name, be it a strange one.

Dalish, huh? Didn't see many Dalish in the city. The word clan was even rarer - an older tradition reserved for rural areas and reservations of land. Not packed cities like Denerim. He releases the small sigh caged in his lungs. By the looks of it, their elf might be an escaped hostage of some sort. He doesn't put cult out of the realm of possibility, but Detective Cullen might provide a more helpful opinion on that matter.

It's not the most favorable outcome, though it could provide an explanation as to why they couldn't find an ounce of info on the fellow. Dorian glances at his phone hopeful Alistair or Cullen might have responded with an update on the name situation.

Dorian stills at the door frame, studying the elf for a moment.

It happens quickly.

A faint green glow tracing up Drizzt's left arm.

Dorian blinks, rubs his eyes, but it's gone in an instant, a trick of the light... Or perhaps his imagination.  
The unease in his stomach grows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and the kudos! 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story so far I'd love to hear from you!  
> I'm going to try and do updates weekly or biweekly. 
> 
> I also take prompts at Fadewalkin.tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Haha, hi..?  
>  Sorry this took so long, I had trouble with a part of the chapter and then it sat and got dusty.  
> Added tags.

 It had been a trick of the light obviously: the green glow Dorian witnessed as he left the room. He shakes his head of it, casting the idea away as nonsensical. Underlying magic was rarely seen in patients. At least, not this far south. Tevinter remained a central hub for magic users, naturally, and research-legality of said magic was admittedly still questionable, but comparative to old text the country was much more sinister centuries ago. Foul magic and misuse were as outdated as the famed Blights that wiped out a quarter of the population.

 

The John Doe had a name, and that's what was important. A somewhat odd name sure, but a name none the less. One that hopefully led Alistair to more information on the poor fellow. It seemed like a bad case of amnesia, mixed in with some sort of trauma. Bull might have a better overview of that situation. Dorian never got more about the Qunari's past aside from him being an agent of some sort, ex. military member who turned out to have a striking knack at calming the distressed. Something about helping out an army buddy with PTSD of sorts steering him towards a relatively safer career path. He was always a good recommendation for trauma victims, occasionally helped out the department when asked nicely.

Heading back to the office Dorian considers the social effort in contacting the Qunari. It probably required having an actual case file first. They had nothing but a discovery location and name that would hopefully expand their information.

Hah... Look at him, running around with thoughts about case files in his mind as if he had any control over how the living were dealt with.

The office is livelier than when he left, and by livelier: busier. Something exciting happening no doubt... Exciting as in troubling. Too many dark circled eyes in the workspace. Dorian, of course, kept his dark circles non-existent. . . Well, he kept them hidden at least.

When Dorian spots Alistair, the blond's cheek is pressed against his desk, shoulders hunched down. Not far Cullen sits, typing away with what Dorian would call a remarkably handsome face for someone so tired and stoic during business hours.

He clears his throat and Alistair jolts to attention.

"Oh! Shit, sorry I'm was just restin--hey, you're not... Don't sneak up on me like that! I thought you were Pentaghast." Alistair trails off, obviously relieved despite his grumpiness.

"Captain." Cullen corrects deadpan. Alistair ignores him with a roll of the eyes.

"Oh, power and command are quite tempting, I assure you! However, I have no envy for her responsibilities." Dorian muses before switching to more serious matters. "Did you find any background for a Drizzt Lavellan? A yes would be wonderful."

It's technically-okay it's _definitely_  not under his job description to be pushing for an investigation. Truthfully? Dorian can't picture himself being quite as concerned if not for the feeling in the pit of his stomach, a ghost sensation on the back of his neck crawling down his shoulders.

Alistair blinks blankly for a moment before tapping away at his keyboard with confidence.

"I already got a case file set up" Something strange happens between the two detectives. Cullen shoots a scowl while Alistair sends a glare back. Some non-verbal communication between the two, an entire argument without having opened their mouths! It's quite brilliant. Alistair soon seems to remember that Dorian is still standing in front of his desk and resumes, "Just in case we get anything else. but uh, no. There isn't any record of the name Drizzt Lavellan, or the name Lavellan in general. You said he mentioned something about being part of a clan?" He looks curious but the drop of skepticism sends Dorian into ruffles, arms crossing in a vague sense of annoyance.

"Yes. Positive even. Those are still a thing, aren't they? Somewhere at least."

"It wouldn't show up in the systems that way," Cullen interjects walking over with that ever-present tired expression, he needed to learn what time off meant.

"Could google it?" Alistair adds before shaking his head, "Wait, not the point. A last name, go."

Both eyes are on Dorian now and while attention is not something he'd consider something to shy away from being asked questions is only fun if you're knowledgeable about the subject. "I did not receive the last name, no. I thought Lavellan was the last name... He said he was the last of his clan?" Dorian trails off, neither detective speaking up the expectant stare no less intense. "I'm thinking! I don't have a magical transcript. It was just, the entire thing was... Odd." Dorian finishes with a frown.

"Odd?" Alistair repeats, Cullen does the thing-the the thing where he's sighing through his nose to hold back some sort of comment. "Odd or not we might need to get an actual interview with him after he's checked out, but with no identification or files... Maker, how do these things even happen?" There are multiple answers to that question, all of which fall under weird and rare circumstances.

"Do you think he's homeless?" Alistair eventually treads.

Cullen's already having begun his 'thought pacing' and shakes his head. "No, there would still be a record unless the name's fake or there simply _is_ no record."

As Alistair sits with the familiar twitch above his brow Dorian pictures the end of their conversation with dread. There will be no information, meaning there will be no case and therefore no case file. No case file meaning Drizzt Lavellan getting dropped off with Maker knows who and bounced from sector to sector until he's... Well, Dorian doesn't know where the elf would end up.

"Dorian."

Cullen's has a wary expression and Dorian pulls away from his thoughts with a deep breath, nodding slightly in attention.

"Look, I understand this is a weird stressful situation having..."

"Having someone I might have performed an autopsy suddenly wake up?" Dorian offers without missing a beat. Cullen ignores the bite to his voice.

"Yes... That. There are no major on-going cases right now, but you know Denerim! It's a large city and while the department is large we don't have resources to chase this. Maybe try talking to Pentaghast about having this transferred and looked into, but I'm not even sure what subdivision this would go to. All we have is a name. There are no substantial witnesses... Maker, were you even able to make out the cause of death?" Cullen finished nearing worked up exacerbation.

The office stills with silence, Cullen glances around a hand moving to rub the back of his neck, face falling into something apologetic. It does nothing to prevent Dorian from stiffening. Eventually, there comes a small apology, Dorian tries to remind himself to feel sympathy being aware of Cullen's personal circumstance.

He's tempted to cave in, except that it's a lost cause. Hope that they find something they can go off of after an official interview. Dorian definitely does not mean to ask it out loud and cast questioning gazes upon himself; "What if it were personal?"

There's no response for a moment. "Dorian, you don't know him, do you?"

Alistair proves to have brains in him yet by ushering the three into a more private office, eyes no less confused.

"No! No, I.. I don't but... Kaffas, he said he... Knew me." The words escape with less confidence than he likes, but can you blame a man for being a touch overwhelmed? The answer, apparently, is yes. Cullen looks no more impressed than frustrated. Dorian tries again, "When he woke up he said my name before I had a chance to ask how he was alive!" He says, pushing onward forgoing eloquence in order to keep Cullen's mouth shut. "Not only once, but twice. At the hospital, he asked me if I recognized him. I certainly don't remember ever meeting the elf! When I told him where we were he said he'd never been to Denerim and--oh you'll love this, the first response to the name question resulted in 'Herald of Andraste' and 'Inquisitor.'" Dorian finishes in an exhale with somewhat outlandish flourishes of the wrist.

It seems to pay off. Cullen has no immediate response.

- 

An hour or two passes and Dorian having eventually succeeded in cohersing the two men into spending a bit more time looking at the bizarre situation.

"No, no, no! I highly doubt it was a cult. I've been around my fair share of overt religious figures... They carry a certain atmosphere with them. . . Rather spooky! Sends tingles up the back of your spine and makes you feel guilty for no reason. Besides he very haughtily corrected me,

 Why would a Dalish fellow call himself the Herald of Andraste if he didn't believe in Andraste?"

Cullen takes a sip of coffee regarding Dorian with a slight shrug. "Not sure, it might be nice if we had something to go off of, but I'm not complaining about the lack of cults..."

"What if he was just like born in the woods? You know? Like the Dalish used to travel, right? Maybe it's something like that?" Both men look at Alistair with differing expressions and the blond sighs grumbling as he goes back to whatever he's typing.

"Brainwashed?" Cullen speculates. 

It's a dramatic phrase, one of which that no longer makes Dorian flinch but maybe the 'calm' never quite meets the eyes. There's an awkward beat of silence before Cullen looks like he wants to apologize, he looks down at his black coffee instead.

Dorian breaks the silence before it becomes a whole ordeal. "He asked if I'd return to the hospital to see him."

Alistair raises an eyebrow in Cullen's Direction "Is that okay? Like ethically, wait-wait no of course it's - yeah. You should do that. He'll be asked questions eventually, you might as well be there."

"And who might be conducting this interview?"

"Ask the captain? I mean, Dorian, honestly it'll probably just be an officer. I want to help because I agree this is weird, but there's still _no_ solid evidence to investigate. Maybe after an interview, we can do something. For now, just worry about getting him out of the hospital and somewhere to stay." Cullen says.

He considers Dorian for a moment, "You know Bull, right? Done some work with him? Why not ask him to take a look?

"Didn't he used to be an informant?" Alistair interrupts.

Dorian hums "More of a multitasker."

Bull did a numerous amount of things and he did them quite well. He was well knowledgeable for someone who wasn't officially qualified for some work practices involving the head. Dorian learned his lesson a few years ago and no longer fact-checked the Qunari's every other statement. He'd already considered it, call in a personal favor and ignore the fact Bull would hold it over his head for weeks to come. Of course, a strong basis for calling would be helpful. Dorian had little doubt Bull would decline, but he preferred having more to work with than what he presented his co-workers. 

Before anything substantial is done Alistair is roped into a larger assignment, shockingly enough Dorian manages to wrangle Cullen into helping, a bit of a surprise considering how hyper-focused he usually was. Naturally, if something larger came up he'd push Dorian's request to the curb, but he could live with that.

Of course, Dorian could get the whole office to help and it wouldn't make much difference given how little info they have and the number of failing resources. Eventually, Dorian acknowledges their stagnant progress and lets Cullen get back to more productive things.

"I'll check with Pendaghast and see what to do about housing as well as an exit interview, hopefully, the woman doesn't bite my head off in the process." He sighs purely for the of show it before heading off.

Cassandra Pendaghast: Captain of the Denerim eastern Denerim Unit Guard. She was a busy woman by title alone, not that anyone in the department doubted her ability to fulfill her duty. Merely, it made getting a hold of her for longer than five minutes difficult-more so when it was an important matter.

This was not the case. Another oddity he might add to the day's events. Cassandra was not an impersonal person, but that didn't mean Dorian expected her to come looking for him personally.

"Dorian! Perfect, I was just looking for you," The idle tepidity in her voice is somewhat endearing.

"Oh? What are the odds of that? I was hoping you weren't busy. Funny how little things work out."

"Mm, hilarious." She says, voice flat and not particularly amused. "There was a call from the hospital," The words shouldn't make him anxious, after years of an autonomous cynical outlook expecting the worst you'd think he might have tried simply hoping for a best-case scenario.

"I'm sorry," Not the best way to off news. "To rope you into this but I can assume that you'd want to be involved seeing how this all started. I'm told there was a complication at the hospital, a panic attack of sorts maybe? The elf lapsed into some sort of seizure or psychosis from what I've been told." There's something odd in her voice, it's always strange to see the captain anything less than confident in her words no matter the dreadful situation they're in.

Numerous questions dance behind Dorian's tongue, unsure how to escape.

Swallowing Dorians tries, "How soon until he has visitation?"

- 

It starts slowly, then all at once. Dorian leaving, a vague ache with no real pinpoint and then what feels like a harsh blow to the head.

A buzz of static across his brain as the world grows fuzzy around the edges. Before the act of thinking escapes him, Drizzt figures there must be a shot of lighting in his bones, electricity bouncing across his many aching joints breaking into a shiver.

He's not really screaming, or at least, it doesn't feel like it. There's too much of a burning in his lungs to scream. It's difficult to believe anything more than wildfires has ever occupied his chest, blackening the insides of his lungs with smoke and heat. Every inhale igniting the embers. A continuous cycle edging closer to an ending where he finally burns alive.

The weight of the world feels heavy; foreign hands hold Drizzt down on a hospital bed as his body begins to convulse, fear and hysteria spilling past his tongue to accompany the screaming.

Looking around there are few things out of place. Typical shadows casting shade across the green blades of the Emerald Graves. There's an open rift covering the area in toxic luminant colors.

Maybe it's the Terror demon screaming, maybe the crushing weight in his chest isn't a pair of hands-but a long sharp claw dripping rubies.

Maybe it's Dorian whose screaming as he casts over his shoulder. He looks worried, he doesn't need to be worried, why is he worried?

Drizzt opens his mouth to tell him it's okay, but the taste of blood floods his tongue. Rotted wine spilling past his teeth, muddling the words past recognition.

The scene is familiar. The pain, the demons, Dorian rushing towards him with a fierce expression. Drizzt doesn't remember the painful gasp when the claw recedes and there's no longer something solid to hold his organs in place.

There's no barrier or green lens cast over his eyes tinting the world and cooling his body. Only the tripping of his feet and mixed sounds tangling and blurring until nothing is distinct or differentiated.

Except for Dorian.

"Dri? Festis Bei Umo Canavarum, If you don't come through this, I swear I'll kill you!" Voice pitched in disbelief and wobbling determination.

It's hard to remember exactly when Dorian got to Drizzt but when he tries to comfort his love nothing legible escapes.

It's hard watching someone you care about cry. The death threats are new and insincere, Drizzt wants to laugh but it sounds wet and far away.

Drizzt lifts his hand placing it on Dorian's cheek, wiping the skin beneath his eye when it happens. How something can be more painful than being impaled he isn't entirely sure. This time he must be screaming.

Flashes of the acidic green splash the edge of his vision, spreading in bursts until the world is drowning in the glow as the veins along his arm begin illuminating, traveling like an infection of the blood. The world begins to melt and the panic upon Dorian's face fades.

 It's nice. Seeing the expression wash away is nice.

The color begins to bloom and spread burning his vision. In blinks, the world around him changes. It's clearly Dorian hovering over him, but he can't manage to recognize his face. The next time Drizzt eye's open there's no longer pain in his chest, no pain in his palm, no blood preventing him from expelling the air in his lungs with fear. Only a high pitch and Dorian bleeding above him, the image of his previously pierced chest mirrored back to him.

The blood soaks across Dorian's robes, shimmering and transformative until it hardens and crystallizes. The high pitched tone shifting into a tempting song. A song that tastes bitter against his gums, cut like lyrium and laced with death. The screaming becomes a melody, hypnotic and haunting. Note upon note detailing disaster; the end of the world. Glimpses of Thedas covered in red fire and army of demons swallowing the world alive. Every detail and death reflected across the facets of growing red lyrium until Dorian is no longer recognizable.

The black waters of unconsciousness are slow to fill his vision, lethargic and lazy moving compared to the overwhelming haunting visions of lovers and blood. There have been few times in his life in which Drizzt felt truly afraid, but now? Now he plunges into the black nothingness so willingly with hopes it might wash away his mind. Erase the sensations of spiders crawling up his back. He opens his mouth welcoming the black waters to fill his lungs so he might drown, numb himself everything fades to black.

Until nothing exists.

Until there's nothing to be afraid of.

-

Sometime between discussing what little further details Cassandra had and some on the spot planning Dorian makes the precarious decision to text Bull. You're sure he'd prefer a phone call but Dorian fears he'll tongue will tangle and trip. Texting leaves little room for undodgeable questions.

'Excuse this if you're busy. There's a situation forming that might make use of your expertise.

A young man with possible amnesia, possibly psychosis. The details are few but I can provide

More, if you the time, of course.'

Dorian glances at his phone, worrying his bottom lip on his way to the parking lot.

'As a personal favor, I ask you do consider my request for assistance."

There's never anything good in owing favors but for this Dorian thinks there can be an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I wanted to switch to first person so many times writing this, particularly Dri's hallucination.  
> Had a difficult time with that one but hopefully, it's interesting. 
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't take so long since I split this one in two. I have everything skeletoned out, er, be it a wobbly skeleton. 
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome, but please do be kind. :')


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry this took longer than expected, I wrote half the chapter in first person before realizing it??   
> The chapter is written in the third person, heavily influenced by Drizzt's thoughts/writers voice. (So, nothing new.)   
> Anywho, I made an 8track list for the fic, so I'll drop that here.   
> https://8tracks.com/awholelotofnothingiv/last-time-you-said-you-d-protect-me

Dorian arrives at the hospital to be greeted by a department officer, someone he doesn't remember the name of... The man looks dejected somewhat, a bit nervous around the eyes.

"Is.. Everything alright, officer?" Dorian raises a brow.

The man before him sighs, "Yes and no, I was waiting for a Dr. Pavus to arrive," The man pauses, glancing Dorian over. "Yourself, I assume." Dorian gave a small nod. He wasn't one to loiter around the office, more forgettable perhaps. "Well, the elf is awake now, the nurses had to knock him out earlier. I probably can't give the best explanation, but they haven't figured out exactly what happened yet. Suspect it was some sort of seizure?" The officer frowns rubbing the back of his neck. "Told me he was screaming all sorts of nonsense. Something about fire and demons?" Ah, yes, that explains the tense atmosphere.

"He seemed a bit out of it from the drugs, so thought it best to postpone business. If you get any useful information be sure to share, alright? Anyway, uh, have fun?" Giving Dorian a slap on the shoulder before heading out rather quickly, eager to get away and steer clear of a sticky situation. Dorian almost sympathizes.

Taking a moment to collect his cool Dorian made his way to Drizzt's room after getting a nod from one of the nurses.

Drizzt doesn't notice him at first. The world is foggy and thinking does nothing but send aches through his skull. Still, he's awake. Resurfaced from the black waters of nothingness. It's almost disappointing, he no longer fears the black depths. There's sense in nothingness, unlike the confusing consciousness Drizzt awakens to. Still, he can't find the energy to question his surroundings further without grimacing in pain.

With his bed lifted at an angle, it only takes a moment to recognize Dorian. It's foolish to hope his feature might light up with recognition and endearment but the disappointment in his chest is so heavy at the cautious sight. Drizzt recognizes Dorian, his face no longer an indistinguishable blur.

The words escape him without intention, a hushed prayer. "Ma serannas mythal theneras-an's din'an." Relief flooding, even as Dorian regards Drizzt with a strange expression.

"You're okay..." The words are soft. Dorian doesn't respond for a moment, moving closer than last time. Drizzt can't help but extend his hand, a subtle longing for some familiarity. He practically forgets the fact Dorian seemed like a stranger the last time they spoke. He's so close to home, safety, how painful it would be to discard illusion just yet.

To his surprise, Dorian gently places his hand in yours with an ambiguous expression. Drizzt ignores it simply swimming in the fact Dorian's holding his hand. Finally, he speaks, voice light. "Should I not be?"

It's cruel how vividly Drizzt can recall his vision...dream? Far too realistic, whatever it was. The image of Dorian contorted and bleeding spikes anxiety, hands squeezing Dorian's for fear he might let go.

"You.. The red lyrium was consuming you... Like Redcliffe." voice barely a whisper in foolish fear saying it aloud will transform the man then and there.

Dorian looks something uncomfortable like he wants to pull away, instead his eyes shift to the side. Corner of his mouth dropping. "I don't believe I follow..." With twitching fingers, he releases Drizzt's hand. He might have begun panicking once again but the fog over his brain whispers sweetly in distraction.

Maybe it's just the heavy blanket on his brain spawning the idea, some sort of convenient explanation. "You're not a demon, are you?" Maybe he never really woke up? Dorian jolts, face coloring with surprise, the first real reaction aside from confusion or panic. He stumbles. mouth fumbling for a response.

"No! I'm very much flesh and blood, thank you very much. Why? Do I have devil horns and a spiked tail behind me?" It's defensive and snarky and after a moment Dorian is sighing, a hand pushing through his hair. "Disregard that... It was rude of me... You're a touch confusing."

Drizzt blinks dumbly at that, a chuckle dying in his throat, lip twitching momentarily. "No, no I don't think so... _you're the one confusing me._ Although, I suppose a demon would at least recognize me," Sadness takes over his voice too quickly before they flit up with some dying hope. "...And you're sure you don't recognize me? Not even a little?"

Nothing happens. No magical enlightenment. Just an unwavering gaze from a pair of gray eyes that have grown too distant for his heart to handle. Dorian doesn't answer, uncomfortable aura washing over him. Twice Drizzt watches Dorian's lips part in question, twice he swallows his words seeming to afraid to ask.

Drizzt half expects him to leave, instead Dorian moves to sit down pulling out a small gadget once again. Composure somehow gathered. "You know, we couldn't find any records for a Drizzt Lavellan. Someone might argue you don't exist. Less that be a nickname you gave me."

You don't pick up on the joking words, maybe you ignore them. "Maybe."

Dorian frowns, sulking almost. "I wasn't being serious."

"Where are we?"

"Denerim's hospital... You do remember me telling you this?"

Drizzt shakes his head some, ignoring the faint nausea it sparks. "No. No, _where_ are we?"

Dorian looks confused for lack of better words. "Thedas...?"

He nods some, but the relief is yet to wash over him, and the information lacks any comfort.

Dorian fidgets with the small box for several minutes before a somewhat satisfied look appears. The next time he looks at Drizzt it's studious, scholarly and detached. By the look of it, he's satisfied by that as well.

"How do you feel Drizzt?"

It's hard not to get caught up in the sound of his name on Dorian's lips. The fog doesn't quite fade but Dorian? Dorian is a burst of clarity in the haze. "Dizzy? You make it better though."

"Oh." The innocent surprise makes his heartthrob. "Well, Em, that's good. Do you believe you could walk?"

With some confusion, Drizzt nods.

"Right then, I believe a friend of mine might be able to help with that fog of yours. All that's left to do is convince who ever's in charge that you deserve a field trip." Before Drizzt has much time to comprehend the words Dorian's drifting out the door. The only important words being a promise he'll come back.

His earlier 'joke' rings softly in Drizzt's head. 'Maybe you don't exist.' It's a strange concept to consider, one that makes his gut clench. It's nonsense though... It has to be. If he, the Herald of Andraste, famed Inquisitor did not exist then how would Thedas? There's no pain in his palm. When examining it there's only a lightening scars remaint of the Illuminating green infection. Tracing a sliver of pale whitish scar that ends just above his wrist... It was never that large, was it?

It's still the anchor though, a less painful one... but it feels like proof of his existence. Almost timid, Drizzt raises a hand to his face, fingers dragging across his cheek. He hasn't seen a mirror and his vallaslin is indistinguishable by touch alone. He can still picture the open rift in the Emerald Graves, the Terror demons claw piercing his stomach... Never really checked that.

The rather ugly piece of fabric he'd been changed into takes a moment to figure out. Only after pulling a string behind his neck can he slide the sleeves past his arms and uncover his chest. It's not pleasant, but it's not too hideous either. It's large, closer to resembling a diamond than an oval while encompassing the majority of his chest. The texture lacks consistency, the edges more jagged to the touch while the inside is smooth and soft. The circumference, a purplish-white color of varying widths and textures that fade into a solid pink color. It's unlike any scar he's ever seen, Drizzt can't quite comprehend it belongs to him.

Perking up, he finds Dorian pausing in the doorway, watching with curiosity as he prods his chest. After clearing his throat Dorian shuts the door.

"I don't suppose you remember how you got that?" Voice wary, half convinced of an unspoken answer. Of any reaction he might have, Drizzt can't withhold a small laugh. "I.. I don't get the feeling you'd believe me."

Dorian considers it, before falling into a more familiar tone of voice. Just shy of smug. "Oh, you're quite right. Not that I think you a liar, but you have been dreadfully difficult to follow thus far. Not exactly a winning track record, however a fanciful explanation is better than none."

Any humor dies on Drizzt's lip, "A demon's claw pierced my chest." Brows furrowing he glances at Dorian before turning away. "You should remember, seeing that you _were_  there." It's strange though, the detail fuzzy. Dorian /was there, wasn't he?

Dorian has no response and Drizzt provides no convenient break to the silence.

"Well! The doctors agreed that I might be able to steal you away for some time... _If_ you feel up to it. I can even get you a hideous pair of scrubs."

Hah, doesn't he know Drizzt would be willing to follow him just about anywhere? Of course he doesn't say this, nodding instead and trusting he'll return when Dorian slips out the room.

\- - -

It takes longer than expected, in the time Dorian's away Drizzt drifts in and out of sleep, by some miracle his dreams are not haunted by visions of gore and the past. The subtle sound of the door opening enough to wake him from the light sleep.

Dorian has in his hands what looks like simple blue underclothes, setting them on the bed lightly. "Sorry about the wait, I'll admit they aren't the most tasteful but hopefully it will do for now.

Thanks. He changes quickly once Dorian steps out. The needle in his arm previously removed. It's easier to remove the gown once he stands, papery material practically sliding off. Dorian wasn't joking when he said the replacement wasn't much better, but at least it's not coarse to the touch.

-

The longer he's awake, the faster the fog fades. Dorian doesn't tell Drizzt exactly where they're going or who they're seeing. Simply leaving it at 'a friend'. It doesn't last on the forefront of Drizzt's mind as the two exit the hospital. The building's structure is strange and confusing. It's difficult to believe he's in Thedas, let alone Denerim.

A dozen thoughts and ideas swirl around his head, outlandish and discomforting. Before the two can reach the building exit Drizzt fears the walls may expand and swallow him whole. Eventually, he takes a rather tight grip of Dorian's hand. Eyes squeezed shut. Beside him Dorian tenses for a moment, there's the sound of a soft sigh but he ultimately allows it. While it doesn't magically make things better, the world becomes more bearable for a short time.

It's easier to fall into a detached numb state of mind rather than reel from confusion. Dorian guides them down a lot filled with metallic carriages...Wagons? Except there are no horses and they're nothing like he's ever seen. With some consideration, Dorian leads him to the front seat of the contraption. Automatically Drizzt goes to pull his knees upward and bury his face there, ignoring the degrading voices in his mind scolding such show of weakness.

Besides him, there's a half frustrated sigh, "Wait, hold on now. You can't just sit like that. At least buckle up first." When Drizzt gives him a blank stare of confusion Dorian guides his feet back down and leans over him fastening a strap across his lap and chest. It's mildly uncomfortable, but he's still able to curl up in the end. "You act like you've never been in a car before." Dorian doesn't fret over his posture a second time. Drizzt doesn't bother responding as if the answer isn't completely obvious.

He doesn't bother asking how they're moving without the use of horses. Perhaps it's magic? Dorian /is a mage.

For a while, they ride in silence until Dorian voices, "Is there something the matter with your vision? You seem to be closing your eyes an awful lot."

Drizzt doesn't bother looking up for his response prompting a "Speak up dear, I'm not fluent in muffled yet."

"Nothing makes sense... I.. I don't think I should be here."

"Ah... I see," Probably a lie. "Where exactly were you born?"

"Free Marches."

"As part of a clan? I hardly knew they were still around." He sounds genuinely thoughtful.

"They were murdered after I left." It's nothing but a statement. The emotions bled dry long ago. Dorian has no response and Drizzt is secretly thankful to end their conversation there.

Of course, for Dorian, it's just as confusing. Surely if there were such a massacre of the already rare Dalish, it would make the news. Wouldn't it? Dorian and Cullen had dismissed the idea of a cult but there was something undeniably off about his acquaintance. It almost felt like something out of a novel. As if Drizzt had been sheltered all his life up until now. Perhaps kidnapped from a young age. Held some sort of Stockholm syndrome beliefs. Whatever it might be, Bull would probably have an easier time sorting things out.

After what felt like a long time they came to a stop. Drizzt made no effort to move, ignoring the sick feeling of weakness like a punch to the gut when allowing Dorian to assist him. After all, this was pathetic, wasn't it? Unable to open his eyes save for glimpses.

The new building was less jarring, more familiar in structure. Inside Dorian asked he wait just a moment in the lobby before calling him into a medium sized room with a small desk in the back and multiple couches.

Whatever small comfort he'd gathered was shattered at the sight of yet another familiar face. Bull.

It must have shown, I mean, of course it did! He couldn't stop staring, mouth falling open before a small trembling began in his fingertips. What might have been relief was already replaced by fear. Dorian, possibly the love of his life didn't recognize him, why would Bull?  
 _He won't recognize me, he doesn't recognize me._

Both men showed increasing concern.

"Dorian?" Bulls voice husk and whispered and _so_ fucking familiar.

"He was alright a moment ago." Dorian assured with that hint of rising panic.

Crumbling to the ground was not Drizzt's intention, but he would not complain if he suddenly curled up and disappeared. Body shaking from shock. Obviously it wasn't a great idea, whatever Dorian was trying to do. He didn't even want to ask if Bull recognized him at this point. The world just wouldn't leave him alone though. Bull's voice closer this time, soft and soothing.

"Hey, it's alright. Nothing in here can hurt you," Peeking up Drizzt doesn't register the flow of tears down his face. Bull looked sympathetic, crouched down with hands held out. "How about we get you on a couch. More comfortable than the floor, right?"

And how could he argue with that? With everything so confusing his emotions must have run chaotic. Drizzt practically plunging into the Qunari's arms. He felt so _real_.

Receiving an almost awkward pat on the back Bull let him cling for a moment before prying Drizzt away to place him on a couch. He didn't automatically curl up but instead pulled his feet up and underneath him.

Bull eventually sits across from him, Dorian still standing near the door,

"You don't recognize me." It wasn't a hopeful question like before. Bull gives nothing away.

"No. Do you recognize me?"

"You're The Iron Bull." The mask cracks but for a second, eye glancing at Dorian before a chuckle escapes.

"Well shit, Dorian tell you that? It's really just a nickname."

The trembling reduced to his hands, "No. No," He was shaking his head voice nearing mirthless laughter. "The Inquisition hired you and you're mercenary company. We met at the..." The information escaped him, eyebrows furrowing Drizzt pushed through. "Your Lieutenant, Krem, came to our camp and invited we see you in action."

The room became very quiet, Bull's expression hard and unreadable. Sympathy drained when he spoke. " How do you know Krem?"

For a long while his gaze fell on a bare piece of wall. The numb feeling was ebbing closer again, wanting only to shield his mind but the catatonic waves never washed over.

"I never wanted to be the Inquisitor...but I didn't think it would be like this. Maybe I died." Well, technically he was found 'dead'.

The two men exchanged looks before Bull scoffs. "I'm pretty sure there aren't any Spirits wandering around Thedas."

Tilting his head at Bull the elf's mouth twitches downward. "You're different."

"That's really vague and a bit cryptic, you know that right?" He almost sounded like himself there.

"You used to hate demons."

"Used to?"

"I..." Drizzt fumbled searching for the right words and ideas. "You look just like him, you have the same fucking name and I recognized you... But you're different, you don't recognize me. _Everything_ here is different." Eyes falling to his lap Drizzt begins tracing the scar. "Nobody believes me." It's a miracle he didn't spiral back into panic.

Bull sighs, edging away some of the tension in the room. "Look at me?"

It was an unexpected request that Drizzt reluctantly follows. It wasn't unlike before. A deep-rooted gaze that pins you in place.

Leaning back Bull crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. "I believe you." The words casual but undoubtedly sincere. Leaving both Dorian and Drizzt in similar states of confusion. Perhaps Dorian more so. Before any of it could be voiced Bull calmly continued. "I believe you're telling the truth. But uh, seeing that I've been in a mercenary company or worked for an 'Inquisition' I think we have different views on reality."

Reality? Huh. Dorian chimed in first.

"Now Bull, you can't be serious... I mean, well, yes he does look quite sincere in his confusion but is there not a difference between living a fantasy in your head and being able to spout out facts and names of strangers?" Frustration building in his voice. Bull shrugged once more at Dorian.

"Isn't that more reason to believe him? Look, I can't figure it out but I don't think your friend here is walking around with a delusion in his head creating random personas for strangers." A genuine huff of laughter escaping. "Fuck, how the hell would someone know about Krem. Details are a bit off but that's still pretty out there."

It was the first real feeling of relief, purer than the longing comfort of Dorian's familiarity. The trembling of his fingers came to a stop. "I... Thank you. I'm.. I'm not crazy. I don't _think_ I'm crazy." Eyes darting back and forth between the two men. "I wish I was... That would make more sense."

"What's the last thing you remember that makes sense?"

"...I think I was dying? There was an open rift but there were more demons coming through than usual. We were getting overwhelmed. I had Cassandra with me," Bull was better at containing his reaction while Dorian looked perplexed. Drizzt pauses for a moment. "Cassandra Penderghast... Is she?" Dorian slowly nodded. How else was here?

Slowly he continued, "Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian." Voice unsure at the end. "A Terror demon appeared from behind and pierced my chest." With that, he lifted up his shirt showcasing the large and strange scar. Eyebrow twitching the elf stood to turn around. "It'd only make sense but I can't see if it's on my back as well."

Bull lets out a low whistle in confirmation.

"Lemme see if I have this right, I'm some mercenary captain?"

"The Bull's Chargers, yeah."

He lets out a soft snort smirking slightly, "Well shit, I sound _cool_. What about this guy." Bull nods towards Dorian who looks more caught off guard than curious.

Drizzt pauses, mouth opening to close. He couldn't say it. My lover or vice versa. Hah... It made him too sad, seeing such an unfamiliar gaze from Dorian when it was once full of love and endearment.

"You described yourself as a Pariah of Tevinter, with hopes to save the Imperium from its corruption." There's a drop of fondness in his voice Drizzt can't bother to hide. With a humorless laugh, he continues. "Second time we met we were thrown into the future..." His voice slowing with each word, a knot forming just above his brow before his body recoiled in a grimace.

"Drizzt?"

It sounded like he was underwater, eyes squeezing shut as pain throbbed across his skull. It vaguely reminded him of the anchor. His hand neither crackled nor sparked.

"Drizzt, are you alright?"

Luckily it didn't last long, no dark waters or visions of death behind his eyelids. Only a sweat above his brow and abnormal breathing. Dorian hovering anxiously beside him slowly repeated the question as Drizzt began to calm down.

"What year is it?" He couldn't have been thrown into the future again, could he? Unless there was magically someone else who could close the rifts and prevent the end of the world. Neither Dorian or Bull looked terribly different in age, even if they were older they'd still recognize him, wouldn't they?

Bull was the first to answer, "9:41 Dragon, should it be something else?" Hah, smart man. That or more willing to accept crazy than Dorian.

"No, that's right.." He frowned, it was on the tip of his tongue but how could he imagine saying it.

"So what? You've flown through time and space from some alternate reality of magic and old?" Dorian sounded haughty without any sensible trace of disbelief. "I'm not sure how to explain that to my superiors let alone a police report..."

"So don't make a report, I'm sure you could convince Cassandra. With enough facts and tidbits from this one. I think even she would understand why you'd want to keep this under the lid." Bull chimed.

Dorian looked frustrated, pouting some as he looked between the two. "That's fine and good but...This is a bit fictitious. isn't it?" Gaze falling back onto Drizzt. "You're entirely sure that you aren't delusional with some prophetical nonsense on you?"

"I...No?"

Dorian sighed in defeat. "I wouldn't have believed you had you said yes, truth be told I still don't believe you... but I don't think you're lying or wrong. I hate sticky situations like these, funny I can literally raise the dead for an extended time but I can't grasp traveling dimensions."

It wasn't meant to be cruel, surely, and Drizzt had heard very cruel things throughout his life. Maybe the sting came from the fact Dorian was saying it.

"I never asked for this." If only he could laugh at the irony of it. No matter where he was he got pushed into a position he didn't want.

Dorian stilled, something startled in his expression before it fell into sympathy. "No, No. Of course not. True or false this must be very shocking... Is that why you were?" Dorian now understood the car situation better. "I guess things must seem rather strange to you."

Drizzt nodded some, exhaustion creeping up his spine. "I can't tell what would be worse. You not remembering, or waking up to nothing familiar." Not remembering was certainly the more painful.

Maybe there was a way to get back? He could ask but that would probably start a whole other conversation comparing then and now. The situation alone was a lot to drink in.

Before any more pity could be cast on him, Drizzt stood up. "Dorian, could we go back to the...Wherever I was? I'd like to rest." Voice lethargic. Despite the sympathetic look, Dorian shook his head.

"I think it'd be better to find you a more permanent residence. Which requires we do some explaining back at the station. Erm, would seeing more familiar faces improve or worsen your mood?"

Drizzt shrugged, it was probably the later.

Clucking his tongue Dorian nodded. "Right, very helpful. Before I forget, take my thanks, Bull."

Bull chuckled shaking his head some. "Yeah, no problem but uh, could you give us a second?" He gestured towards himself and Drizzt. Dorian looked mildly confused but had no complaints, leaving the two to wait in the lobby.

With the closest thing to a humored expression, Drizzt crossed his arms looking up at the Qunari. "Is this where you integrate me for some face I made or my body language."

Blinking Bull let out a deep familiar laugh. It was the closest thing to magic Drizzt felt since waking up in this strange reality. Genuine and familiar without any trace of hesitation. Maybe he hadn't changed so much.

"Shit, maybe. Is that something I do a lot?" He was grinning now, something infectious that Drizzt couldn't help but return in splinters. "Now that you stole my thunder guess all I can do is be blunt. What's with you and Dorian?"

Drizzt knew it was coming, there was no other topic that would have prompted him being pulled aside, but actually hearing it was different than anticipating it. Ears twitching down some, a sad faraway look painting his expression as he twiddled his fingers collecting what he was willing to admit.

"Look, you're not super obvious and I doubt he thinks anything of it but I have an eye for these things." Literally.

He trusted Bull before, he could probably trust him now, right? With a shaky sigh, Drizzt moves to hug himself feeling too vulnerable. "He is... He was someone very very important to me. Now? He doesn't recognize me, I'm just some stranger." A dull sad panic growing "I don't mean anything to him." He'd never said that part out loud.

"That's uh, that's a rough one. Did he love you back?" The L word earned a glare. Yeah, perception definitely hadn't changed.

"Yes?.. I think so?" Voice turning to tremble. That was a scary thought. That was a very scary thought, one he never had to consider before. Bull cursed softly in alarm, realizing his misstep.

Arms wrapping around him was unexpected but how the fuck could Drizzt refuse a hug?

"Sorry, sorry. I don't think I can help you much with that but if you need anything else, just give me a call." Bull handed him a small card with his name and a series of numbers. "Uh, Dorian can probably explain that to you but I'll let you get going. Knowing Penderghast it'll take a while before anyway lets you fall into a bed."

Drizzt mumbled thanks, unsure how to feel.

On their way back to the station Drizzt doesn't curl up or guard his eyes against the future, or, wherever it was. Things were still overwhelming, had he been in a better mood he might have asked questions but all the elf wanted now was dreamless sleep so he might have the chance to stop thinking for a while.

Instead, Drizzt is stuck in the cautious peripheral of Dorian's vision. It wasn't the cleanest answer but he more or less showed some acceptance to Drizzt's words. That he was out of place in a world that was only held vague familiarity. It probably wasn't an easy situation for him either, but there's no arguing who was worse off here.

Drizzt was just so emotionally exhausted, too many questions filling his head that he had no energy to ponder. Instead, he allowed Dorian to guide him down halls and corridors unresponsive to the idle conversation. Eventually, Dorian stops trying to fill the silence.

There are men and women dress in impractical looking green uniforms that vaguely reminds him of Denerim's heraldry. That's whats so fucked about things though, the small reminders of home planted everywhere intertwined with the new. There are several curious glances in his direction but Dorian keeps Drizzt on a clear path, guiding him by the shoulders.

"Do prepare yourself now, there will be more familiar faces." Dorian sounds unsure of himself but maybe the nerves have a different source.

The two-step into a large office and sure enough,

A woman sighs or rather groans, not even lifting her head to respond. "You are interrupting, so I'll use good faith and believe you are not here to waste my time." Voice low but ultimately non-threatening.

Dorian curses softly before clearing his throat, "Never, I can hardly imagine it. Apologies for not ringing earlier but I believe this will require your assistance"

Cassandra looks mildly annoyed when hers eyes finally lift but the expression falls into curiosity at the sight of Drizzt, her next words slow and without bite. "Dorian..?" Eyes expectant for some explanation.

Dorian looks... Nervous? Before a superior? Hah, to think he'd so openly act like such a person existed. Like the others, Cassandra was a familiar stranger. She had her hair longer, pulled back and only the smallest of scars marring her cheek. Was all of Drizzt's Thedas here?

Dorian seemed at least somewhat relieved when Drizzt doesn't crumble to the ground.

"This is going to take some explaining and convincing. I know I pushed pressure on Cullen and Alistair to make a case but I believe it would be better for everyone if it is discarded."

Eyebrows knotting she stands. "Oh? And please do continue with your explanation." She doesn't seem to know exactly what to say when her eyes land onto Drizzt. She's very good at being civil when needed. "Hello, I am pleased to see you are well. Even if I do not understand why the two of you are here, or why you would even think to suggest discarding files of any sort." Bite returning to her voice. Ah yes, another familiarity. The law of diminishing returns was seeming to take effect for the good of things.

Despite seeming nervous to intrude, Dorian showed no issue in retort. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it has to do with the fanciful explanation I'm about to provide. If you'll even believe it, Maker knows it'll take some convincing." Words dry.

Drizzt knew Dorian was waiting for him to say something, but Gods did the effort required dwarf any possible reward. He didn't belong here and no one he knew would recognize their once coveted leader. In the silence, Dorian's nervous ticks sprung while Cassandra stretched her patience.

Drizzt sighed. "You're missing a few scars..."

Cassandra quickly fell into his expected perplexed reaction. "What?"

"You had another scar near your jaw." Before she could question and deny like everyone else Drizzt pushed on pulling what useful facts he could find from memory, the words passing his lips growing hallow.

"You're name is Cassandra Pendergast... I can't remember the rest in between but, you're 78th for the Nevarran throne. Previous right hand to Divine Justina.." That probably wasn't helpful, although he'd heard the word Maker and Dorian knew he was Dalish so Andraste was probably still a thing.

"You had a brother named Anthony and you like romance novels."

The rest of the conversation was drawn out with far too many questions for his emotional state. Dorian was kind enough to take over and explain their meeting with the Iron Bull. Dorian sounded far less convinced of it but the fact he proposed Drizzt was from another time and place had to mean something.

Eventually, the Captain of the East Denerim Unit pulled whatever 'case file' had his name with some hint of resignation. As far as Dorian trying to get Drizzt a place of residence, to summarize Cassandras words,

'If all that has been said is true then it would be wrong to kick you to the curb not understanding the world around you. Seeing that this information will _not_ reach any sort of news source it seems only fit someone from the unit house you. Dorian, since you've been so active in this affair you'll be the first I ask to help Drizzt adapt.'

It's really kind of incredible how quickly she went about handling things with all seriousness. Dorian flustered at the idea but compiled in the end.

On their way out the building, Drizzt passed two more familiar faces. The Grey Warden king and the commander of the Inquisition forces. There was no scar across Cullen's lip... A slow-growing numbness creeped out his chest.

Dorian tried to be welcoming but was silent for the most part, out of politeness or his own stirring thoughts Drizzt didn't know.

Dorian's home was quaint, still sizable to most homes he'd been in. Elegantly decorated without being overwhelming. Soft hues of beige, purple, and gold. It was comfortable.

"You mentioned you were tired earlier? I must apologize, I knew it would be a long conversation but I'd had hopes it'd be shorter. There's an extra bedroom, It'd be rude of me to keep you up any longer. A man needs his beauty sleep, after all."

The last bit had him chuckling weakly prompting a curious stare. "I'm quite aware of your beauty needs." Drizzt commented. Along with quite a few others.

While flustered wasn't a wonderful reaction, it was certainly better than one of discomfort. Dorian chose not to comment.

"Formalities and getting to know one another can be put on tomorrows to-do list--"

"I already know you." It escaped without thought, words that only stirred tension. "At least, I think I do..."

Dorian licks his lips, a pause of sorts. "Humor me then and let us become re-acquainted then. Maybe tell me more about my stand against a corrupt empire?" The words were light and humorous.

Drizzt wasn't sure what more he could do than nod. Mind wandering as Dorian led him into a spare room, a brief tour of any necessary utilities and a provided pair of pajamas.

Their goodnight was brief, understandably awkward for the most part. Drizzt did not let thoughts of longing linger and torment him. The icy black waters of sleep were still and inviting. Sleep came easy He let exhaustion steal him without complaint, nor hope he'd wake up somewhere familiar in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's still some perspective tense typos I need to go back and catch but I've read this far too many times now not to post it. I also gotta re-track some of my plot skeleton??? So, uh, sweating in the corner. But PROGRESS! FINALLY! Because come on, can only leave these guys confused and in the dark before it gets silly. 
> 
> Also, I love Bull so fucking much and no one can convince me he wouldn't be a dope ass psychologist.
> 
> The outline is shakey, but I'm excited about the next chapters, this fic is still aiming towards a happy (hopefully not too cliche) ending.   
> Please leave a kudos or comment below and you can always send me a hello on tumblr at http://fadewalkin.tumblr.com/


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